


Riding Out

by Laurielove



Series: Melbourne Indulged [2]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Love, Older Man/Younger Woman, Smut, Vicbourne, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurielove/pseuds/Laurielove
Summary: Spring 1842. Victoria has a new Prime Minister, a husband and two children. Time has moved her life on, with all the joys and frustrations that can bring. But time has not erased memories. Just as she told him, she has not forgotten. And when Lord Melbourne visits again, familiarities, conversations and connections sit just as easily as they always did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A two-chapter Vicbourne fic, because I adore them so much. Part of the Melbourne Indulged series.  
> It is set a few months after the birth of her second child and after Melbourne's resignation as PM. Victoria was advised to stop writing to Melbourne after her marriage which I'm sure was very difficult for them both. This imagines him visiting her after several weeks of no communication. Affection remains. Of course it does. And when you haven't seen someone for an age whom you relied on like air itself then something may give.  
> If you are following Revelation, this one doesn't have the kink that has but, eventually, things do heat up.  
> Partly inspired by Lord M dismounting by throwing his leg over his horse's head so effortlessly sexily in S1Ep1.

Victoria sat, staring across the lawns of Windsor and rocking the cradle absentmindedly. It was some time before she realised her son had finally drifted off to sleep. When he was like this, she could gaze in adoration at the little bundle, his crop of hair sticking out from under the bonnet. It was easy to forget the grizzles and cries which beset him when awake.

Albert Edward, or Bertie as they called him, was not an easy baby, it was agreed by all. Victoria found him even harder work than her daughter, and little Vicky had taken much getting used to. But now he was asleep, the most perfect little mouth, the sweetest nose, his soft skin almost luminous in its purity, she adored him with all the ferocious love of a mother.

Once she was reassured he actually was asleep, she stood and crossed to the window. The lawn was green and fertile – spring had been early and hot this April.

His nurse would take him soon, but Victoria insisted on spending the early afternoons with her children, even though at the first sign of frustration, family and staff would arrive to relieve her. Sometimes she needed it. Sometimes the piercing cries of the little ones were like nails through her head. But she knew how fortunate she was, both in having healthy children and in having people to help her with them. She would not be complacent. And she would try to be a good mother.

But today she was distracted. Today, he was visiting.

She had not seen him for weeks. How strange. How different to the time before he had resigned. Then he would visit every day; and she would write, even on those days when they had spent hours in each other’s company, endless letters, words and words of discussion and debate and gossip and silliness.

How she missed it. How she missed him.

She adored her husband. Everyone knew that. She knew that, but she still missed _him_. Her confidant, her advisor, her friend. Her Lord M.

Victoria stared out over the gardens, clasping her hands so tightly the knuckles blanched, her senses attuned to his arrival. She used to be able to do so, to anticipate when he was coming. It was a little game she played with herself. She would count down the seconds to the door opening and Lord M striding in to kiss her hand. She was usually correct to within ten seconds each time. Call it intuition. Call it communion.

She focused on a rose bush blowing gently in the breeze and counted down from twenty.

‘Five, four, three …’

Closing her eyes she thought the last two numbers and after one the door opened. She smiled to herself but resisted turning around.

‘Your Majesty.’

His voice … as if she were being wrapped in the softest childhood blanket, warm, familiar comfort. She absorbed it into her.

Slowly, tantalisingly, she turned.

There he stood, hands clasped before him, hinted smile on his face, light dance in his eyes, hair immaculately ruffled from his ride. As effortlessly handsome as he had ever been.

‘Good afternoon, Lord Melbourne.’

She held out her hand to him and, as smoothly as he always had, he bent at the knee, took it in his long fingers and kissed it. Her insides gave their predictable little jolt. No matter how often he kissed her hand, no matter how much of a simple adherence to protocol it was, the touch of his lips on her knuckles always had the same effect. Time had not changed that, neither had a husband.

He stood and smiled down at her and there passed between them the instant, quiet contentment of two souls who need not speak for thoughts to be shared. ‘It has been some time,’ she said.

‘Some time since, Ma’am?’ He glanced to the side in that quixotic way of his.

‘Since our last meeting.’

‘Five weeks, Ma’am.’

‘Five weeks and two days,’ she corrected instantly.

He pouted a little in consideration. ‘I believe you are correct.’

‘And no letters.’

He opened his mouth to respond but then lowered his gaze and simply said, ‘No.’

‘You know why.’ This time he said nothing. She continued, ‘I was advised to stop writing to you. It was deemed unnecessary.’

‘Well … I am no longer your Prime Minister, Ma’am, so the necessity is indeed no longer present.’

‘But our letters were one of friendship, were they not? I wrote many letters to you. My letters to you were a great comfort to me.’

He gave an assuring smile, just for the two of them. ‘And to me, Ma’am.’

‘Do you miss them?’

He hesitated before answering, but only briefly, and when he gave his answer it was heavy with honesty. ‘I do, Ma’am … very much.’ There was a stirring from the crib. Melbourne moved his eyes towards it and smiled. ‘And how is little Kinglet?’

Victoria turned to the crib and brought a fleeting smile to her face but Melbourne heard the swallowed back sigh and noted the darkness under his monarch’s eyes. ‘Asleep, it would seem.’

‘And when he is not asleep?’ He crossed to the infant and looked down, recalling another little baby boy from many years ago. He stared at the tiny creature and forgot to blink. His eyes misted.

‘I feel he tests me.’

Melbourne tore his eyes away from the baby to look back at her. ‘Tests you, Ma’am? He is an infant, as far as I’m aware they are lacking in guile and deceit.’

She tutted to dismiss his tease. ‘Oh no. Children, babies in particular, are designed solely to force us to the limits of endurance with regard to patience and virtue.’

‘Yet he looks so peaceful.’

‘It is a ruse. Do not be fooled.’

Melbourne could not help but chuckle and she smiled to hear his laughter; their wit sat so easily in each other’s company. And he adored the return to the familiar.

‘Is your children’s nurse not up to the job? Most mothers do not have the privilege of calling on aid whenever needed … but on this occasion being Queen of England may well have its advantages, Ma’am.’

It was her turn to laugh, that silver ripple which curled its way round him. ‘And I do indeed use that privilege. Yet I will not allow my children to become strangers to me.’

He stared down at the little boy, feeling again that ferocious course of emotion which flows through a parent, remembering it as if it were yesterday. ‘And the thing about children, children whom you yourself have created with your very life force, is that … you love them with every ounce of that force itself.’

‘Yes, I love them with all I am.’

He glanced over his shoulder at her. He could tell she was finding the strains of parenthood exhausting. ‘Excuse me, Ma’am … is the Prince Consort not present at the moment? Perhaps he could relieve you of some parental burden?’

‘No. Albert is in Carlisle.’ There was a terse edge to her voice he should ignore.

‘Carlisle, Ma’am?’

‘There is a new railway and some dispute over the gauge to be used. It is most tedious, I must say, yet he seems to find it utterly fascinating. I daresay, being a man, you probably find it so too.’

He pouted a little, his hands still clasped before him with relaxed ease. ‘No, Ma’am. I am not certain that being a man requires an interest in railways.’

‘Well, Peel is as riveted by the blasted things as Albert.’

He took steady paces towards her. ‘I am not Robert Peel, Ma’am. I had hoped that, despite doing the same job, you had noticed that it is a different person now going through the dispatch box with you each day.’

She laughed again and he adored it. ‘Oh, Lord M, you know how profoundly I notice the difference between you and Robert Peel!’ She let her laugh rise beyond her before continuing, softly and sincerely, ‘We had good conversation, did we not?’

He paused a moment and held her eyes deliberately before saying, ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘We were good friends.’

Something caught in his chest and he swallowed to ease it. ‘Indeed.’

‘We still are, I hope.’

The ache inside intensified. This time he tried rationalism to dismiss it. ‘Circumstances change, Ma’am.’

‘But affection does not.’

If he looked into her eyes, he feared he would not be able to breathe at all so he tore his gaze away, inhaled deeply and crossed to the window. He must quell this. ‘You miss the prince when he is away.’ He hadn’t voiced it as a question in order to remind himself of the situation as much as anything.

‘Of course.’ There was a pause. ‘And yet …’

‘Ma’am?’

‘When one is so very used to another’s company, it is perhaps wise to take moments apart, so that the absence deepens the anticipation of return.’

She spoke curiously and yet he understood too well. He could hear his own heart beating loud and hoped she could not. ‘I see. And that is what you are doing?’

‘Yes. Yet I find I … cope quite well with Albert’s absence.’

‘I am glad to hear it, Ma’am.’

‘And, of course, you are here today. I have not seen you for so long that …’

‘What, Ma’am?’ He prompted her truth. His breath was still constricted but, despite himself, exhilaration was pounding through his blood.

‘I spoke of anticipation after an absence …’ She turned and gave him the full beauty of her open face. ‘The anticipation of seeing you today was quite tremendous, Lord M.’

He paused before softly repeating her sentiment. ‘Tremendous.’

‘I have missed our conversation terribly.’

His breath was paining him, his blood pumping furiously through his veins. They fell silent again. He looked down at the ground and resorted once again to platitude. ‘Well, the conversation between a Queen and her Prime Minister is different to that between husband and wife. I am glad you recall our discussions on Parliamentary matters so fondly.’

‘It is not our discussions on Parliamentary matters of which I speak.’

He stood at the window and turned his head towards her, wanted to meet her eyes but daren’t. The flood he had kept at bay for so long was threatening to break its emotional dam. She persisted in tapping away at it.

‘Albert is my dearest, but … sometimes, when one is so intent on the other, I find it can be – how to put it? – obsessive. It can be stifling.’

He remained silent.

‘Yet … even though you and I spent hours in each other’s company, Lord M, never once did I have those oppressive feelings with you. Never once.’

The air thrummed about him, as if compressing his very soul. He resorted to the calm modulation which had served him so well as a Parliamentarian. ‘Ma’am … these are perhaps thoughts best left unvoiced.’

‘But I will voice them. You are the only one I can say this to, the only one who will keep it safe for me, and the only one I wish to know it. Albert is my friend and the father of my children and a good husband in all the ways that should be, but … he is not my everything.’

He stared at a spot on the carpet and tried to steady his breathing. ‘I do not think it is possible to find one person who is everything, Ma’am. Speaking from personal experience.’

‘No … but you … you provide the missing pieces.’

Her words throbbed through his mind like bees, stinging, buzzing, and no matter what he did they would not be batted away. He would do something rash if he stayed like this and so he said, quite impulsively, ‘It is a trifle airless inside today, Ma’am. Shall we take a walk?’

He heard the rustle of her skirts as she decided upon something. ‘Yes, yes, we must escape this place. But not a walk; we shall ride.’

He looked back and quirked an eyebrow. They had not ridden out for a long time. ‘Ride, Ma’am? Are you sure?’

‘I am. It is a warm day. I would like it very much.’

‘And then so would I.’

‘I shall change immediately. Wait for me, Lord M.’ And with a radiant smile and nod of her head, the Queen left the room to prepare. For a time until the nurse arrived, Melbourne was left alone with the sleeping baby. He stared down, remembering the similar little snuffles and mewls his own son had made. Melbourne turned to look out over the lawns and waited for the Queen. He allowed himself a feeling he had not indulged in for some time: happiness.

\--xxoOoxx--

They rode far from the castle, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. They rode through the park, further than he could ever recall before, and their conversation was as light and easy as it had always been.

‘We have not ridden out for some time, Lord M.’

‘No, Ma’am. Does the Prince Consort not accompany you on horseback?’

‘He does, but infrequently. Albert prefers transport either by steam or his own legs.’

Melbourne chuckled and Victoria looked at him, her eyes shining at the sound of his laughter. Despite the warmth, clouds were gathering overhead. She inhaled deeply. The changeable conditions gave the air an indulgent, heady fragrance. ‘I can already sense the summer,’ she commented. ‘The winter was so terribly bitter. It did not help in the early days with little Bertie.’

‘Those days are past now, Ma’am. You have much to look forward to.’

‘I do. But for now this is serving me very well. I always felt we talked our troubles through best when we rode together, Lord M, did you not feel that?’

‘Yes, Ma’am. But were there many troubles to talk through?’ He glanced at her with a smirk.

‘Perhaps that is the wrong word. With you, no problem ever seemed insurmountable.’

‘You are too generous in your praise, Ma’am.’

‘I am honest. Robert Peel is ludicrously competent but everything must be so exact and precise. I find it a trifle exhausting, I confess.’

‘Yet you spend barely any time with him … I am told. You are through the dispatch box in no time. I do not recall us being so efficient.’

‘There were many reasons for that, Lord M.’

‘Such as?’ A ripple of satisfaction curled through him and he pressed her to reveal the truth of their compatibility.

She smirked. ‘I was naïve, uncertain of how things worked. I needed instruction. It was a time of social unrest, there was much to resolve. And …’

‘Ma’am?’

She turned and looked at him as she was rocked almost sensually by her ride. ‘I was never in a hurry to dismiss you. I adored your company.’

He held her gaze. The motion of his own horse mimicking hers reminded him all too well of erotic harmony. He indulged himself with it for a moment, but then guilt got the better of him and he steered the conversation down a safer route, almost a reprimand to himself. ‘And certainly the Prince Consort is able to talk through matters of State with you now. You have a fine advisor in him.’

‘I do. He is most expert in the Constitution. He has studied it intensely. I admire that greatly.’

‘As you should.’ He refocused reluctantly.

She turned to study him. He felt her eyes upon him but resisted looking her way.

‘Albert is a dear companion to me.’

‘That is how it should be, Ma’am.’ Melbourne gripped his horse’s reins tightly.

‘A dear companion in all ways. He has taught me much.’

He knew exactly to what she was referring and his stomach turned over. At that moment he hated the Prince Consort with passionate intensity. He hated him as he had once hated Byron.

Hatred. A futile emotion. An emotion unbefitting a gentleman. He knew it and yet he was human and powerless to resist. And now he hated Albert.

He should have been the one to teach her. He wanted to. He wanted to teach her everything. Beyond Ministerial protocol, beyond the dryness of dispatch papers, he wanted to teach her and guide her and be her first. And he had not been.

He hated Albert. And he admitted it openly to himself as he rode along beside the woman who had brought meaning to his life.

‘Yet I do feel sometimes that …’ she continued.

His ears pricked to her wistful tone. He urged her on despite himself. ‘Ma’am?’

‘The physical union which occurs in marriage is a wonderful thing, a most wonderful thing … is it not?’

He did not answer. His stomach was now clenched so tight he could have been punched in the gut and would not have felt a thing.

‘Intimacy between my husband and me was glorious before the children … It still is at times … but …’

He waited, nausea and curiosity combining to make him dizzy. He gripped the reins tightly to steady himself.

‘I do wonder sometimes if now it is focused entirely on his part on procreation. When preparing for intimacy, he must always bring up the matter of conception and timing and the like. It does grow a little wearisome and removes the spontaneity of simply being together.’

Melbourne stared straight ahead, his mind clouding with irreconcilable contradictions. ‘I cannot comment on such matters, Ma’am.’

She continued undeterred. ‘I find intimacy of that kind a wondrous thing … yet I wish sometimes that it was disassociated from the need to provide heirs.’

‘Ma’am, I …’

‘Do you understand what I mean, Lord M?’

 _Yes, yes!_ he wanted to scream. He wanted to take her and hold her and show her what it was to share that intimacy only for love and pleasure. Instead he said, ‘I believe so, Ma’am … but this is a conversation you must have with your husband.’

‘I have tried, but it is sometimes good to discuss it with another.’

‘I am sure Harriet Sutherland or Emma Portman would be good confidantes on these matters.’

She almost guffawed. ‘Not Harriet! Her husband is not remotely open to such things! Poor Harriet. Despite Prince Ernest’s valiant interventions, I do wonder if she has ever come close to sexual ecstasy!’

He coughed loudly and had to halt his horse. Victoria fell about laughing at it. ‘Oh, Lord M, I have embarrassed you!’

‘No, Ma’am … no, it is just that … I never thought I would be discussing such things with you.’

‘Oh, why not? We discuss everything. I feel I can. It is so good to talk with you again. I have missed it so. I have missed _you_ so.’

He looked at her. Her face shone, her eyes shone, her hair gleamed. He could fall into her and enclose her in him, but instead he cleared his throat and turned his head to stare straight ahead again.

She gave the deepest sigh, relieving the heady tension, and said, ‘The weather is changing. Spring can be so fickle. It will rain.’

‘It is already raining, Ma’am.’ He glanced up. A few spots caught his upturned face, thick and heavy. The sky was darkening rapidly. ‘We should turn back.’

‘Oh, let’s not turn back yet!’ The Queen had a calculating smile on her face. ‘I have not been for a good ride in so long. I am enjoying it so very much.’

‘As am I, Ma’am.’

‘They say I am a proficient rider, Lord M,’ she smirked.

‘I do not doubt it, Your Majesty.’

‘Yet you have seen no evidence of it. Perhaps we should ride at a trot.’

‘Ma’am … I am not sure that is wise … it is perhaps not befitting of a statesman of my … advanced years.’

She threw her head back and laughed. ‘Do stop this nonsense about your age, Lord M! You are as vital as any man in his twenties!’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I rode a great deal in my youth, Ma’am, I concede, and indeed I still do when the opportunity presents itself.’

‘In that case, we should certainly pick up the pace.’

With that she clicked to her horse and started to trot. She was quickly carried away with a laugh which drifted back to him like a ribbon uncoiling from her hair. He felt he should scold her but only clicked to his own horse to follow suit. The rain was forgotten. Soon, he caught up with her and together they trotted along. Her cheeks were flushed and the radiance of her smile in turn made her eyes brighter than ever.

‘We are a long way from the castle, Lord M. Aren’t you going to stop me?’

He was enjoying himself too much. ‘Oh, perhaps a few more yards will do no harm.’

‘At a canter?’

‘Ma’am …’ he warned.

‘Yes, a canter.’ She threw him a daring smile and urged on her horse, who started a brisk canter.

‘Your Majesty!’ he tried half-heartedly but delighted in seeing her race off exultantly. Again, he did the same, easily keeping pace. ‘Your Majesty, you have proved your point. You are indeed a most accomplished rider.’

‘As are you, Lord M. A race!’ she dared.

Sense forced its way back. ‘Certainly not. Let us return to the castle. The rain is worsening.’

‘Oh, let the rain come! I love the rain!’ It did indeed grow heavier and Victoria threw her head up to the heavens and laughed as she became increasingly wet.

She at last brought her horse to a stop. He pulled up too, relieved that she had seen reason. ‘Ma’am, I would advise turning back now.’

‘And I would advise racing to the folly there. Do you see it? Across the pond?’

‘Ma’am. Come now.’ He started to turn his mount around. But before he had done so fully, she had cried to her horse, jerked the reins, and set off at a gallop across to the pond.

‘Damnation!’ spat Melbourne. He had no choice but to turn again and race after her.

She was fast. He was catching her, his skills as a horseman coming quickly to the fore, but he feared for her as she was riding side saddle. Her tiny frame was being flung up and down as the horse raced ahead.

‘Your Majesty!’ he called, urging his mount on. The horses’ hooves pounded through the muddied ground and his voice was almost lost on the wind.

‘Catch me if you can, Lord M!’ she cried, racing on faster and faster.

He was exhilarated. Exhilarated and appalled. It was madness to gallop so fast side saddle, especially in the pouring rain. He prided himself on his own horsemanship but she had set off so fast he had a way to catch her.

‘Ma’am!’ he cried again. ‘You must stop! You will injure yourself!’

‘If anyone is to catch me, then let it be you alone!’ Still she galloped. Her horse snorted and panted, tiring, but unable to deny his eager rider.

Now he cursed loudly after her. And suddenly, a deer raced out from a thicket a little way off. Her horse was startled and reared up. Melbourne watched in horror as the Queen tried to cling onto the terrified animal. It took only an instant for her to slide hopelessly from the saddle and land awkwardly on the ground beneath. She did not move.

His heartbeat was halted and his breath stolen from him. Melbourne dug his heels into his mount which darted on and reached the fallen Queen in a moment.

He pulled up abruptly, causing his ride to plunge hooves into the mud, and threw his leg over the horse’s head in a hasty but effortless dismount.

He sank down beside her. ‘Your Majesty! Ma’am!’ She managed to turn around. Her clothes were spattered with mud, her bonnet was off and her hair was in disarray.

At first, she looked up at him with eyes wide with adoration, as if he were an angel come to rescue her. ‘Lord M, I –‘ But her words were cut off as she turned further and her face twisted in pain. ‘Oh, oww!’ she exclaimed, clutching at her right ankle suddenly.

‘You’re hurt,’ he said. ‘Where? Your leg?’ He glanced down. Her skirts had ridden up and, despite the alarm coursing through him, he took in every detail of her neat little boots and the slight legs rising out of them, pale in their stockings. His heart juddered again but concern focused him.

‘My ankle. There,’ she said, pointing to where the pain emanated from.

The rain by now was pouring down, soaking them both.

‘We can’t stay here.’ He glanced around. There was the folly on the other side of the pond: a circular tower with a cupola. It would be sheltered there.

‘Can you stand, Ma’am?’

‘I will try.’

Without thinking, he reached down and held her under the elbow. She glanced at him in surprise but her eyes were warm with acceptance, perhaps more. Despite the wet and her pain, her cheeks were flushed and her lips full. How beautiful she was, he thought.

‘Can you sit on your horse?’ he asked tenderly.

She shook her head. Her sore ankle would be positioned agonisingly riding side saddle. He frowned. ‘Then you must ride mine.’

‘Astride him?’

‘Yes. Have you before?’

‘Not since I was a child.’

He smiled reassuringly. ‘I am sure you remember, Ma’am.’

She hopped over to the horse and he took her by the waist before he thought too much about the fact that he was doing it.

She gasped. ‘Does that hurt too?’ he asked in grave concern.

‘No, it’s just … no, it’s alright,’ she stuttered, looking into him again. He gripped her more tightly and heard another intake of breath. He suspected he knew why.

‘One, two, three …’ He lifted her. She was tiny, her slight, warm body light in his grip; his swordsmanship over the years had meant he kept himself physically strong. He hoisted her with ease over the horse and she threw her uninjured leg over. He pretended to ignore her lower legs which were revealed as her skirts were forced up by sitting astride the horse. Leading both horses, Melbourne practically ran to the folly.

Once near, he lifted her down again. For a moment, he did not let go, and she gazed up at him, her eyes wide with hope, her lips parted a little, dark red and plump.

And still it rained. The drops were catching on his long eyelashes and he blinked them off. He helped her hop into the folly where they were sheltered from the rain and guided her down to sit resting back against the wall. She winced.

‘Ma’am … I … perhaps we should ….’ He knelt beside her and indicated her ankle with odd jerky gestures which made her forget the pain. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she stifled a giggle.

‘What, Lord M?’ she teased, enjoying his discomfort.

‘I feel someone should look at your ankle.’ He gave a short cough in an attempt to mask his embarrassment.

‘Well … do so then.’ And, with no hesitation, she took hold of her skirts and tugged them up, revealing her neat little boot clad feet beneath.

Medical necessity could not quell the stirrings deep within him. Here she was, her body damp and warm. Attainable yet unattainable. But there was a need, conflicting and at odds. ‘We probably should … umm … remove the boot …’

‘I agree.’ She spoke with no prevarication.

This was his Queen! ‘May I …? Your Majesty …? Could I be so bold?’

‘Oh, for goodness sake, Lord Melbourne! Just take the blasted thing off!’

He looked up in shock at her forthright words and together they allowed a moment’s laughter to overcome them, but then silence descended as with slow, careful fingers he tugged the laces from her riding boots and loosened the leather. Already, her breath caught, not with pain but the feeling of pulling and tugging and the working of his hands over her ankles. He undid the first lace and glanced up. Her teeth were digging into her bottom lip. She could not take her eyes off what he was doing.

And now, whether he admitted it to himself or not, his hands worked as lover and not physician. With gentle determination he lifted her foot slightly and prepared to draw off the boot. ‘This may hurt a little,’ he warned, lifting his eyes to hers. She nodded. He eased the boot from her foot and she sucked in a breath as the pain caught her slightly. But it came off with relative ease and he held her foot tenderly, a precious ornament that may break.

‘There.’ He glanced up again and felt his cheeks flush under her stare. She gave him the softest smile.

His hands were warm, thankfully, but he moved them with purpose, and Victoria for her part felt their strength. It brought a comfort and reassurance which calmed and settled her.

He frowned a little as he studied her ankle and moved his hand down so that he could feel for any damage. She sucked in another breath. It barely hurt. It was not pain which made her gasp, but the feel of those glorious hands on her, separated from her skin only by the thin cotton of her stockings. His thumb rubbed the ankle, smoothing over it.

‘It is a little swollen.’ He pressed gently. ‘Does this hurt?’

The ache intensified, but not unduly. ‘A little.’

‘Not a sharp pain?’

She shook her head.

‘Your Majesty … I’m going to move your foot a little, to test the ankle. Can you tolerate it?’ His voice was low and assured, passing between them like a secret both already knew.

‘Yes.’

He held her foot by the heel, while the other hand supported her leg higher up, gently cupping her slight calf. She stared down, entranced, unaware of any pain, even if it was there.

Slowly, with the utmost care, he rotated the ankle carefully. It pained, but only a little more than before.

‘Is that tolerable?’ he inquired. She nodded again. ‘I do not think it is broken. It is sprained and will hurt considerably for the next few days. I am sorry.’

‘But it will mend?’

‘Oh yes. In fact, after a day’s rest, the best way to heal it is to start using it again. Don’t let your quack physicians tell you otherwise!’

She giggled but noticed he was still holding her foot. Melbourne cradled it and his thumb rubbed slightly, almost imperceptibly, along the side. His other hand still supported the calf and his fingers pressed in the merest amount, imparting warmth. Her breath came in shallow pulls but she said, soft yet there, ‘Perhaps I damaged my leg elsewhere too?’

He glanced up yet reasserted the pressure of his hands. ‘Perhaps …’

‘I … cannot be sure …’

His gaze darkened and she held it intently. Gone was the frivolity, gone was the laughter. Further words evaporated. But, slowly, gently, not breaking eye-contact, she pulled her skirts up higher so that they rose just over her knee, exposing it to his gaze.

His eyes flickered to it and his Adam’s apple jolted along the long line of his neck. Beyond the folly, the world grew dark, dark to the point whereby it disappeared. The sound of the drumming rain grew distant. They were the focal point of the universe, the two of them enclosed in their secret space.

Melbourne looked back to where he was holding her ankle, and slowly he brought his hand up, running it over her shin, then round to join the other supporting her calf. His grip tightened, the slightest massage of the flesh.

‘Does that hurt … Ma’am?’ he inquired, not daring to look at her.

‘No.’

His hands rose higher. The thumb on his right hand stroked up towards her knee and his left hand curled under, into that warm, soft, secret place behind. Victoria could capture him there, keep his long fingers all to herself. Her very core ached, ached with what she knew was not pain, ached with that same longing she recognised all too well: she ached with desire.

Both his thumbs now rubbed over her knee. His fingers were nestled behind and one stroked, just a little, but perceptibly, stroked the deep, warm indent. It was as good as a touch on any of those warm secret places only her husband knew of.

‘Does that hurt?’ he repeated, but the insistence was gone.

‘No.’

And then higher. One hand pushing up, finger tips leading the way, stroking up her inner thigh until he came to the top of her stockings. There, now daring and bold, he smoothed, glided, felt the warm, soft skin she kept there for him. Thoughts were vanquished, sensation guided them both. His hands worked unbidden and pushed her skirts up so that the full length of her right leg was exposed to him. There he continued to stroke, bare flesh on bare flesh, his warm touch caressing the pale, exposed skin.

‘And that? Does that hurt?’ It was a mere murmur now.

‘No. There is no pain.’

She pushed herself to sit upright, to lean into him, so close that their breath was mingling, so that she could see his pupils widening as she cut out the light falling on them. He did not pull back and his hands continued to caress her bare skin.

And then, tentatively but inexorably, surely but questioningly, she moved into him, lips towards lips, hoping, knowing.

Connection. Lips to lips.

The softest kiss. Brief, fleeting, barely there but there. All hopes, all longings, here and now. His hands remained on her thigh, starkly intimate.

They rested their foreheads against each other. The rain poured down.

‘Kiss me properly,’ she whispered, her lips daring his near again.

He could scarcely breathe. ‘Ma’am …’ But his protest was barely audible.

‘I want this. I have wanted it for so long.’

‘You are married …’ A hollow attempt at dignity.

‘And so I know what must not be squandered. Let us not regret, William, let us not.’

He would not. She dampened her full lips for him and held them there, only a breath away. And he brought his to meet them. He kissed her, slow, gentle at first, as if tasting something which could poison. But when it did not, the suppressed longing which he had kept so tightly locked away stretched and reached out.

One hand remained on the soft underside of her thigh, but his other hand rose to her face and angled it so that he could kiss her more perfectly.

And desire engulfed him, desire he had not dared admit for so long. It was there in his fingertips, on his lips, in his belly and limbs, stirring, seeking.

‘Victoria …’ he murmured through his kisses.

‘Yes,’ she said. That was all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are inevitable and necessary.

He kissed her, warm, full, deep and deeper. She responded, knowing how it worked, not dreaming this time, not imagining furtive kisses with her Prime Minister over the dispatch box, questioning fumbles she’d imagined every night of her early reign, wondering, uncertain. Now she knew, now she would give and take.

His mouth moved on hers, the mouth of a lover, the open, hot, questing kisses of discovery, yet knowing each other so well. Their lips worked together, and the deepest instinct kicked in from years of preparation, for this time had been so long in coming that it hit them both with such force that their mouths were soon open, tongues searching, meeting, knowing.

He guided her back to lie down and she brought her hands to hold his head to her and take his mouth, take that beautiful part of him she had wanted for so long.

‘No pain,’ she murmured. ‘No more pain. Touch me, please touch me. I cannot breathe without your touch.’ And she took hold of his wrist and moved it between her legs. His brows creased in wonder but he was beyond censure. She was here, now. His life, his beauty, his hopes and dreams, and she was real.

His hand worked its way up and pushed against her through her drawers. She sighed into his mouth and pressed into his touch. When had she become so knowing? So certain of her own desire? She was his but he had not made her this way; it should have been him, it should have been him! Did she see the shadow pass over his face for she pulled him back down to her and kissed him so deeply he became dizzy. And with that his remorse melted.

Now only mattered. Now. Together.

Victoria reached down and unlaced her drawers, lifting her hips to tug them off. He helped, any other thoughts except touching her banished. He removed her other boot and slid her stockings off her legs, enjoying the slow exposure of her pale skin. He glanced up. She was staring down at him, her neat little teeth biting into her bottom lip. His mouth ticked at the corner and he felt the power of seduction course through him as he had in his youth. It had been so long. When her chest rose then was held, he knew he could still command it. An innate feeling of satisfaction pounded through him which focused itself at his groin. His breeches were in desperate need of release.

He moved over her again, letting his hand linger in the warmth between her legs. They fell open willingly for him and this time her brazen sexual need merely spurred him on. He leant down and kissed her again and she returned it with languid ardour. His fingers worked their way up the smooth warmth of her inner thigh and then found her.

Victoria broke away briefly to gasp in her pleasure. His fingers glided through her, she was so ready, so ready for him, so wet. Her eyelids fluttered at the perfection of it and she turned to him and smiled.

He had a look of wondrous sobriety on his face, as if he was still confused yet unable to prevent it. She reached up for another kiss and as his fingers parted her and swept up to circle that little bud at the top she broke off with another moan.

‘Does it hurt?’ he queried, and she could not tell if it was in jest or not.

She threw her head to the side and laughed. ‘No! Oh, it is the most glorious thing! My darling, my darling, my love!’

He gave her the slightest smile – a Lord M smile – and focused on what he was doing to her. Now, right now, she was his, completely and utterly.

‘Victoria … my Victoria …’ And his fingers dipped up into her, two, right up into the throbbing heart of her and she rose to meet them, to propel them as deep into her as she could. She pulled in a breath as she felt them working inside her, learning her, feeling her, then they were out again and stroking, building her up to that moment.

Oh, it was him doing this, him. Her first love, her perfect man, her companion and friend. This man knew her, he had made her, she was his. It was always meant to be this way and in that moment neither of them doubted it.

She stared into him and he into her as his fingers nimbly and skilfully built her pleasure. Her breath caught and her neat little eyebrows furrowed as rapture approached. She gripped onto his shoulder and tried to mouth words to him but none emerged. William smiled down at her with eyes and lips. His confidence surged and he stroked ever stronger, harder, knowing she could take it all. He knew her. Perfect lover.

Wordlessly, she conveyed it to him and he read her. He moved his fingers faster, harder still, rubbing strongly over that nub of flesh he had only before imagined under his touch.

And there. There.

She came so hard she cried out. Here, with only the stone of the folly and the trees and the rain as witnesses, she could do so. She cried out loud and hard, letting her pleasure gleam from her with sudden brilliance.

He did not question what he would do next; lust coursed through him. He knelt up from her and quickly pulled off his coat, then, with almost unseemly haste, he undid his breeches. Her eyes widened when she saw him and he allowed a faint tinge of pride to take him. It reminded him of the look Caro had given him their first time.

Victoria sat up and turned a little for him. ‘Help me with my gown. I want rid of it.’

It frustrated him but he fumbled at the hooks and eyes and together they managed to remove it quickly. But still she was not satisfied. She scrabbled around for the laces of her corset and he laughed as he pulled them out for her. There she was in only her chemise, but that soon was discarded and for a moment he was once more robbed of breath. His Victoria was naked before him, without shame, without doubt. She lay down over the voluminous masses of her clothes and held her hand out to him. He quickly rid himself of the rest of his clothes, only leaving his shirt on in his haste.

He must calm himself. He was so hard he would not last long, he feared. So he slowed things, and took time to gaze upon her. Lying so close he could breathe warm onto her skin. He placed a hand on her smooth belly and ran it slowly up, luxuriating in the milky skin he had imagined for so long. He cupped a breast and let his thumb graze over the nipple, already tight and hard in the outdoor air. Her breath caught and he glanced up at her. Her eyelids were heavy and her mouth was open to pull in breaths. He did it again. She pushed against his hand and, with the other nipple sitting so invitingly alongside, he lowered his head and took it in his mouth. Immediately, she arched up into him and tangled her fingers through his hair, holding him close.

‘William …’ she moaned, and he was grateful for the downy comfort of her breasts for she would have seen his eyes dampening otherwise.

He tongued and sucked on her while his hand plucked and rolled the other nipple. She liked it. Little mewls and sighs kept rising from her in tune with his ministrations. He could not remember a lover whom he could read so well.

His hand dropped again between her legs and found her so wet he could barely gain purchase on her.

‘Oh, please, please,’ she murmured. He could hold back no longer.

He moved over her and immediately she spread her legs wide for him. Again, her boldness as a lover struck him, but now it was for him and he would take it all.

He leaned over her, placed in readiness, so hard he was in pain, and kissed her again, opening her mouth, and breathing his heady desire through her.  

He pulled back, barely, and they remained a whisper apart, their eyes locked. William braced himself with a grip on her shoulder and reached down to guide his desperately hard member.

And then he pushed into her. She was so wet he glided through with barely any resistance but then her body clung to him, keeping him as close as possible. He groaned suddenly and helplessly.

She bucked up and drew him further in and he met it with a firm thrust forward. He was inside her, fully and inexorably.

For a time neither breathed, both stared unblinking at the other as the full magnitude of their joining struck them. Her brows furrowed and she gripped him tight inside her, causing him to swallow sharply. There would never be such happiness again.

Slowly, surely, William moved in her, pushing his full, hard length through her giving flesh, feeling her, learning yet already knowing, for he had made her as she had needed him to.

Not once breaking eye contact, barely blinking, he made love to her, surely, steadily, suppressing his own pleasure to draw out hers once again. The feel of this woman coming around him would be his greatest triumph.

‘William,’ she said, so softly it feathered on her breath. ‘At last … at last …’

He felt her clench on him and the wet, giving warmth of her held him cocooned in pleasure. ‘Inside you,’ he murmured and she bucked her sweet body against him, drawing him deeper in again. ‘Inside you, inside you,’ he repeated time and again. Where he belonged, where he was meant to be.

They moved instinctively and naturally, as attuned to their love making as they were to conversation or wit. She angled her leg up, prompting him to hook it over his arm and push himself deeper into her. He lowered his head and caught a nipple in his mouth, earning the most perfect sigh from her in reward.

And then she was murmuring something, almost to herself. He bent down, still ploughing steadily through her, to hear it.

‘Yours … yours, yours, yours, yours …’ she repeated over and over, a mantra of devotion. ‘My love, my first love, my first heart …’

And with that he was lost. He had tried to give her her pleasure first but he was overcome. William came so hard he was blinded. He was coming into her, filling her, completing her. And then, as his groan of ecstasy rose loudly from him, he felt her pleasure grip him. She gasped and froze as the perfect glove of her body tightened around him inexorably. First love. Last love. Complete.

Afterwards they rolled over so that she could lie along him without him falling from her. Eventually, their breathing steadied and settled into a rhythmic harmony.

‘It had to be,’ she whispered.

‘Yes,’ he said.

They lay still, staring up at the cupola above them. The rain had stopped and the scent of the wet grass thickened the air.

‘What I said then … I love you still, William.’

‘And I love you. I have given up trying not to. It is impossible. I will love you until my last breath.’

‘We have this always.’

‘You will not regret?’

She pushed herself up from him and studied him with a frown as if the idea was an abomination to her. ‘Regret? My only regret would have been not ever having this.’

They lay there, their bodies joined, and when he fell from her, they curled their limbs about each other and kissed, slow, long kisses which would last them a lifetime. It was only when the light around them turned russet that he lay back with the deepest sigh. ‘I suppose we should return.’

She sighed too. ‘Yes. We have been gone an awfully long time. Whatever shall we say?’

‘That you sprained your ankle and we got caught in the rain.’

‘So you think it best not to mention the nakedness?’ she teased.

‘On this occasion, Ma’am, complete honesty may not be advisable.’

She giggled and kissed the rise of his chest. ‘And, as always, Lord M, I defer to your better judgement.’

‘There is the slight matter of you having actually sprained your ankle, Ma’am.’

She frowned at him. ‘You have known me in the Biblical sense, Lord M, I think perhaps you could call me Victoria now.’

‘Just as you could call me William?’

She smirked at her hypocrisy. ‘I did earlier.’

‘As did I call you Victoria, but … there is a certain comfort to the familiar, don’t you think … Ma’am?’

‘I do, Lord M.’

‘In all seriousness, however, do you feel able to ride my horse?’

‘I think I’d rather enjoy it,’ she smiled.

‘We must return now, Ma’am.’

‘I know. You shall have to help me with all these infernal layers. I hope you appreciate quite how straightforward it is to dress as a gentleman! Being a lady is a ghastly business!’

He laughed and pulled himself to his feet, reaching a hand down to help her up carefully. Together, they helped dress the other, all the while talking with the familiar ease they had grown accustomed to since the first day of their acquaintance.

For a moment, it would have been quite easy for them to pretend that they were not a widower and a married woman, but a couple who had spent the happiest years together in wedlock. Perhaps, for those few moments alone together, they did.

When they had finally managed to put all their clothes back on, he helped her over to his horse and lifted her up again with ease. Then, leading her horse beside them, he walked along as she rode back towards the castle.

It took them a good 45 minutes to return and there, as they approached the gate house, they saw several figures standing under the arch staring out and pointing.

‘Oh look! A welcoming party.’ Her heart sank. ‘Is our story quite straight, Lord M?’

‘You took a tumble and sprained your ankle. It rained. We sheltered in the folly and gave your ankle time to recover. There is not a single lie there, Ma’am.’

‘You make it sound so easy, Lord M.’

They were close enough for her mother to come bustling down the drive towards them. ‘Drina! Where on earth have you been? Lord Melbourne! What is the meaning of this? And why is Her Majesty sitting astride your horse?’ She asked the last question with such complete outrage in her voice that Victoria nearly laughed aloud.

‘Your Highness, you must forgive me,’ said Lord Melbourne, his charm and smoothness of delivery calming the waters immediately. ‘Do not be alarmed, but I’m afraid Her Majesty’s horse was startled by a deer and threw the Queen off. Her Majesty is largely unharmed but she has sprained her ankle and, although it is not a bad sprain, it will require her to rest for a day or so.’

Her mother’s jaw dropped and she fixed Victoria with the same icy look she had given her on numerous occasions of her childhood. ‘Oh, Drina! I have warned you about your riding time and again. And you are due to meet with Lord and Lady Carnarvon tomorrow. They shall have to be delayed. What an inconvenience.’

Victoria pursed her lips. ‘No, my ankle is not unduly painful, thank you for your concern about my welfare, Mama.’

The Duchess ignored her daughter’s veiled insult and turned to further interrogate Melbourne. ‘But why did it take so long to return?’

‘Well, of course, it rained, and so rather than forcing Her Majesty to ride painfully through a downpour, we sheltered in the folly beside the lake.’

‘For three hours?’ The Duchess pursed her lips.

‘We were wet. I was very wet,’ proclaimed the Queen. She turned to Melbourne. ‘Wasn’t I, Lord M?’

Melbourne did not flinch, apart from the briefest tick of the corner of his mouth. ‘Extremely, Ma’am,’ he confirmed. (It was only when she thought back on this exchange later that Victoria blushed bright scarlet.)

‘And what were you doing while sheltering in this folly for three hours?’ pressed her mother.

‘We were …’ She faltered.

‘Playing cards, Your Highness,’ finished Melbourne, and with an effortlessness which could have been sleight of hand, he produced a deck from an inside pocket. ‘Her Majesty beat me most soundly at Blackjack.’

The Duchess tutted and wrung her hands together. ‘The Prince Consort will be most dismayed to hear this news.’ She gave Melbourne a glare which would have curdled milk.

Victoria interjected. ‘Well … Albert is not here and by the time he returns I will be perfectly fine. Now, I would like to change. Inform the kitchens that Lord Melbourne is dining tonight.’ And with that she walked as fast as her sore ankle would allow into the castle. Her mother shot Melbourne another poisonous stare and hurried after her.

\--xxoOoxx--

Dinner was quiet. If anyone noticed the Queen’s lack of conversation they put it down to her sprained ankle. She sat opposite her former Prime Minister and they indulged themselves with frequent looks and smiles and that silent communion which was now stronger than ever.

After dinner, the night air cooled quickly but Melbourne walked out through the library to a terrace, secluded and quiet. The storm of earlier had passed and the stars were appearing, bright and clear.

He had left the Queen in conversation with her mother, arguing about the best treatment for a sprained ankle. He stood and inhaled deeply, his body still sated with the feel of the woman he’d held naked against him earlier. The moment had been imagined and desired for so long, and today she had gifted him with something so elemental and vital that it would endure and sustain him for the rest of his days.

‘Lord Melbourne.’

He turned. Victoria stood, silhouetted against the light from the room beyond.

She smiled softly and stepped towards him, her features revealing themselves in the moonlight. ‘My mother believes I should have total bedrest for at least a week.’

‘And how do you feel about that, Ma’am?’

‘It is utterly ridiculous, of course. The children need walking and entertaining if nothing else. How can that be achieved from one’s bedchamber?’ She stepped closer to him with only the slightest of limps.

‘If you don’t mind me saying, Ma’am, you don’t seem to be too afflicted.’

She glanced down at her ankle, lifting her skirts a little to reveal her lower legs. His blood pounded through him at the memory of what had occurred. ‘No,’ she stated plainly. ‘I think it was the shock as much as anything. And shock is best dealt with, I find, by distracting oneself from it.’

He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Distraction … Is that what happened in the folly?’

‘You know better than that.’ She stood beside him and they stared out over the gardens. ‘Albert has sent word that he is returning tomorrow.’

Before, he would have offered some pleasantry about how he was sure this would be a comfort to the Queen etcetera, etcetera and so on, but this time he remained silent.

They stood, content in their stillness, until she said, ‘Do you believe in inevitability, William? That some things will happen no matter what the circumstances and obstacles presented?’

He turned and looked down at her but still kept his silence. Victoria usually expected his response after her queries, but on this occasion, he need not speak. She continued. ‘I believe in it, fully and completely. What happened today was inevitable. _We_ were inevitable. Somehow, I knew that from that first moment when you told me I should call myself whatever I wished. Because you, more than anyone else – and I mean that most sincerely, more than anyone else – _know_ me. And, I hope I can go so far as to say that … I know you.’

She looked up at him. Still, he said nothing, but he gave one of his soft, private smiles which affirmed her hopes.

‘How awful, how terrible it would have been if two people who are connected so essentially should never experience complete togetherness. It would have left such emptiness. I could not have taken that to my grave.’

‘Nor I.’

‘No matter what we have had to subvert, no matter where our lives have led us out of duty or circumstance or devotion to others … know that I love you, William. I have for so long … and I always will.’

‘And know that … I also love you … Victoria.’

She reached out and took hold of his hands, remembering the secrets they now contained.

And slowly, a final time, he bent to her and placed the softest, most perfect kiss on her lips.

She looked up and said softly before turning back into the castle, leaving him looking after her, ‘Goodbye, William. I will never forget.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are. Inevitability.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. My romantic heart is aching but a little assuaged. Let me know your thoughts, if you can. 
> 
> Revelation will continue apace, but until then, cheers m'dears. xx

**Author's Note:**

> Second and final chapter very soon, I promise. It's ready to go. Let me know your thoughts if you have a moment. Many thanks. LL x


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